CHRIS; BLACKWOOD STATION; 21:52
FIFTEEN HOURS SINCE INCIDENT
So, it's ten minutes to ten, which means it's about fifteen hours since we barely managed to get out of the Washington Lodge alive. God, I can't even think straight because my mind keeps coming back to the images of fire, those fucking wendigos... and deaths. So many deaths in one night.
The only thing anchoring me in this existence is the feel of this beautiful girl on my left, burying herself in my arms.
"Hey, Ash?" I whisper in her ear.
"Yeah?" she whispers back, her fist closing in on my blue jacket as if speaking at all will result in something we don't want to happen.
After the need to stay still and quiet unless you want to fucking die, I can understand the left-over fear. Even Mike—the one who sort of became our leader at the time of distress—nearly hit Sam in the face half an hour ago just from a touch on the shoulder.
Goddamn, I don't know what I would do if someone tries to scare the shit out of me.
Would I think they're a wendigo, too? Would I try to hold whatever-it-is-I'd-be-holding up like a shotgun to someone's face whenever someone startles me? Who the fuck knows? I didn't really think about it until Mike lashed out. Now, it's stuck in my head along with everything else.
Ashley hasn't been doing better. She's still shaking from time to time.
"How are you holding up?" I ask her for the hundredth time because I really want to make sure she's okay. No, I need to make sure she's okay.
Well, not okay-okay. We all know we're not. Not after last night. At least, I want to make sure she's not spiraling down that dark hole of thoughts of wendigos and fires... and death.
Ash's shaky breath and the tug on my jacket brings me out of my own dark thoughts and I let out a heavy sigh.
She doesn't answer me this time. She doesn't need to. Her answer's gonna be the same anyway.
Instead of forcing her to say anything else, I tell her, "Yeah, me, too," kissing her on the top of her head.
A part of me is fucking thrilled that I get to do things like these now—show Ashley how much she means to me without hesitating like I did in the past—and that she is responding positively to my gestures.
But then a part of me reminds me how I got this far—how Ashley and I got together in the first place—how we even got to know each other's feelings. Then, a part of me is now back in the lodge, reminded of everything that happened there—both the real and the faked.
And then I go back to ground zero. Ready to detonate at any second.
Josh... Goddamn shit, my best friend is fucking dead. I... I still can't believe it... along with Jess and that guy with the flamethrower... I never even knew his name.
I can't stop thinking about them. All three of them.
That guy with the flamethrower—I can't stop thinking about how he died... and I saw it with my own two eyes. I can't stop thinking about how his head got cut off with one swipe from the wendigo.
I can't stop thinking about how I could have been him.
I could have been the one with his head cut off. I was lucky enough to have been standing where I was standing, and he was unlucky enough to stand where he stood. If I hadn't been faster than him, I would have been the one who is dead.
A butterfly effect that could have changed a lot right now.
And fuck, Josh and Jess are both probably dead the same way, too, now. It's ten in the evening. The wendigos probably caught them by now and are feasting on them. Fuck. Fuck. What did that man say wendigos do?
"He will render you immobile, and then he stripes the skin off of your entire body piece by piece... And he keeps you alive, and aware, and feasts on your organs one piece at a time."
To think that Josh and Jess... Josh... Jess... Josh... and Jess... Josh... Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Oh God no, no, no, no.
They can't be... I can't think of... They shouldn't be... No, I can't think about it. I shouldn't think about it. I mustn't. I shouldn't, but fuck it all, the thought of their dead bodies being mangled by those fucking monsters won't stop rewinding in my head. FUCK.
"Chris," I hear my name in a muffled tone, as if I'm deep in a cave and the other person is just on the other side of it, calling for me but never coming in to get me.
I know what's happening. My logic knows what's happening. I'm having a panic attack, and someone's trying to calm me down.
"Chris," I hear again, a bit clearer this time. "Chris..."
I blink a couple of times to see green eyes staring right back at me—eyes filled with concern, fear, and a kind of worry I can't understand.
"Chris?" the soft voice of Ashley Brown asks.
I'm in the Blackwood Police Station. Of course.
"Y-Yeah?" I ask her, unsurprising at how shaky my voice had become. I did just have a panic attack.
I clear my throat, but I realize that my whole body is still shaking. I look at me tremendously shaking hands incredulously. I can't believe I just had a panic attack.
"You're not breathing right," Ash tells me, her own eyes showing as much panic as I had felt.
But she's right. I'm still not breathing right. I'm not breathing right because a huge part of me still doesn't believe in the supernatural, and yet how else can I explain what happened back there in the mountain? How else can I explain the fact that all six of us saw what happened at the same time? That those things were real? I know they were real.
And I don't want them to, but there's noting I can do to change the past. What did that graffiti up in the mountain say?
"THE PAST IS BEYOND OUR CONTROL."
Was the graffiti Josh's doing, too? It probably was. And even then, he's right. The past is beyond our control. I need to keep my cool. I need to be strong.
I need to be strong for Ashley.
"Sorry," I tell her.
Ash turns on her seat with her right leg folded under her, looking at me directly. She places her left hand on my chest and grips my shirt tight.
It feels as if she's gripping me by the heart, and I can't help but feel comforted by it.
"Don't you dare apologize," she whispers at me with an edge to her tone.
"Sor—Er, right, yeah," I say dumbly as her hand falls from my chest and grabs my right hand.
I look up at the others and they all turn away. They all saw what just happened. They all saw me hyperventilate. They all saw me panic.
"Do you enjoy feeling terrorized? Humiliated? I mean, panicked?" Josh had asked. No, no one likes feeling those things.
"What were you thinking about?" Ashley suddenly asks me quietly, breaking me from my thoughts.
I sigh. "I... I don't want to talk about it, Ash."
"Besides asking me how I'm doing, you haven't talked since we swapped stories after Sam's interview with the police," she points out. "Eventually, you have to tell me what's wrong."
I crack a small smile. "What are you, a therapist?" I joke.
She gives me a small smile in return. "No, but we both know I'm right about needing to say what's wrong..." Her smile drops. "Maybe... Maybe after this, I might need one."
"Need what?"
"A therapist."
My smile drops.
The tension between us is thick and it suffocates me. I hold on to Ash as if she's my lifeline. Well, right now, she kind of is. She's the only one making me think straight at the moment.
She's my anchor in this sea of terror.
"You're right," I whisper, "about talking about it, I mean."
She looks back at me. "What were you thinking about?" she asks me again in a more somber tone, as if the question itself is the answer.
I bite my lower lip and let out a heavy breath before stilling myself. "I was thinking about Jess and... and..."
"...and Josh," Ashley finishes for me.
My throat dries up. "Yeah," I barely say since I can't even bear to hear the name of my best friend without...
"Chris, it's okay," Ashley tells me firmly, tightening her hold on my hand whilst her free hand rubs my arm. "Josh betrayed us all in the end."
"It doesn't mean he deserves to die, Ash," I scold her.
Sometimes, I forget how Ash can be a little flippant.
"I know. I know," she says. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah," I sigh.
I don't blame her for being hostile with Josh as of now. She's still shaken up from everything that happened in the lodge... but she's right about one thing. I need to get things off my system as early as possible. I know that. Prolonging the agony will only cause more agony in the future.
I need to talk to those who would understand what I'd feel about losing Jess and... and Josh. I need those who aren't angry with him.
I look at the other side of the room to see Mike and Sam seated beside each other. Mike has his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped, and his head bowed down. Sam, on the other hand, has her arms straight with her hands holding on the seat, gripping it like a lifeline.
They were talking in whispers half an hour ago—and it might have even escalated to a little argument in the end. I didn't hear anything except Mike insisting about someone not being fine. They stopped talking a few minutes ago and now, both of them have their eyes locked on the ground. Both of them in worlds of their own. Like me.
These two... These two know how it truly hurts losing Josh and Jess... Mike, from what I've seen, actually loves Jess... and Sam... Well, she and Josh were pretty close, and Josh really liked her though he didn't know it himself. The idiot.
Is it a good idea to talk to them when they look like that? Maybe. I don't want them to spiral down a dark path either. Yes, I have to talk to them.
"Ash," I start, "do you mind if I talk to Mike and Sam for a moment?"
She blinks once, twice, thrice, then her eyes quickly glance at Matt and Emily's direction—her eyes filled with worry. She's probably afraid that she will go through another slap from Emily. I saved her from the brunt of Emily's wrath earlier, and Emily apologized for "being a bitch" as she said, but she never looked at Ashley once.
I can understand Ashley's anxiety.
"Why?" she asks me.
"Just... I want to... about Jess and..." Why is it so hard to talk about them all of a sudden?
"Oh, er, yeah, yeah, sure... Of course," she replies, slowly taking her hand from mine but I quickly snatch it back to kiss the back of it as well as her right cheek before slowly making my way towards Mike and Sam.
I wonder what kind of dark hole these two are falling in since neither of them are reacting to me walking up to them.
"Mike, Sam," I start, and as if I said a magic spell, they both look up at me at the same time in alarming speed, surprise etched on their features. I thought they'd have whiplash from the movement, and I'm just grateful that neither of them had the instinct to kill me... especially since these two are the ones who managed to kill wendigos.
"Chris," Mike whispers in a tone I can't decipher—as if my name physically hurts him to say somehow.
"Hey," Sam replies, "how're you doing?" she asks worriedly, moving a seat away from Mike and gently pulling me down to sit on the space between them.
"That's actually my line, and I can't believe you're stealing it, so screw you, Samantha," I joke to lessen the tension a bit.
Sam gives a small smile. "Well, you should pick better lines, Christopher, if they're so easy to steal." I smile at that but her face morphs back to being serious. "But seriously though, are you all right? You had us all worried for a bit there, you know."
I sigh. "I'm..." I shake my head. "It's just sinking in—what happened in and out of the lodge, I mean."
"Yeah, it was all so surreal," Sam agrees.
"No, I mean... I still don't believe it happened."
"Oh, right," she whispers, knowing that I am the most skeptic of the supernatural among our group.
Hell, I mocked the supernatural... and look where that got me.
"So, how are you two holding up?" I ask them just as I had asked Ashley, just wanting to know their mental state.
"I'm fine," Sam replies firmly. She's been saying that since we left the lodge.
Mike gives out a humorless snort, shaking his head. It's now obvious that this is the argument they were having earlier, and if I know Sam...
"Yeah, sure, I'm fine, too, then," I mock, rolling my eyes.
"I guess we're all fucking fine tonight," Mike says sharply.
Remembering his flinch earlier, I'm not surprised he's hating the word fine right now. They've definitely had this conversation before, and I'm betting Mike was not fine with it. I decide not to say that out loud.
Mike sighs beside me. "Chris, man, look," he starts, " I'm—"
"He's going to apologize to you," Sam cuts in.
"...Why?" I ask Mike directly.
"It's about... It's about Josh," he whispers.
Once again, hearing my best friend's name makes me want to... I don't know really... "What about him?" I ask, my throat dry and my voice broken.
"Look, I'm sorry for leaving him in the—"
"Mike, you didn't know what would have happened," Sam intervenes beside me.
"Sam,. Chris and I tied him up like a little Christmas present for that motherfucking wendigo," he argues.
My hand shakes at that statement. Oh, holy shit, he's goddamn right about that, isn't he? Jo—He even complained about how tight the ropes were... and I even nearly hit him in the head with a plank of wood.
I knew I could do it. I was about to do it, but at the last second, I quickly changed my mind and disarmed Mike instead... but I knew I had it in me to hit him unconscious.
I was a part of the reason why he was taken to the mines.
"—found him in the mines. He was okay," I hear Sam beside me continue.
"Yeah, and I left him there to die, too," Mike replies with an edge to his tone.
"Mike," Sam whispers in shock.
I would have been shocked at his words, too, but I'm too busy trying to control my breathing. I look up to see that Mike has unshed tears in his eyes as he looks away. This is only getting worse for everyone.
We left my best friend to die. I let him down. We all let him down and now he's dead.
"Chris, you okay?" Sam asks beside me.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I automatically reply because that's the standard reply to when you're not feeling fine.
"There's that fucking word again," Mike grumbles. "He's your goddamn best friend, Chris."
"Mike," Sam scolds.
"God, Jesus, Mike, you think I don't know that?" I reply hotly before letting out another heavy sigh to calm myself.
Strong. I need to be strong.
"...But you're right. It's why I came here in the first place anyway—to talk about... about them. I can't stop thinking about them."
"Yeah, neither can we," Mike replies, looking at Sam from the corner of his eyes.
I look at her to see her lips pursed, eyes downcast, and back to the position she was in before I intervened their silence.
"Josh," Mike mouths at me, and I nod in reply.
Shit. I never even knew Sam had feelings for him, too. All I know is about Josh's feelings for Sam (which, as I said, Josh himself didn't know). We never knew it was reciprocated. But there are no more chances for them to be together.
Because he's dead.
Dead like the Flamethrower Guy. Josh and Jess. All three of them torn apart. Skins ripped off while they scream. Organs taken apart and eaten. I think I'm gonna be sick.
"Christ Jesus, man, breathe!" I hear Mike yell beside me.
"Chris!" I see Ashley kneeling in front of me.
"God... when's this gonna stop?" I complain angrily when my breathing is nearing fine. "My lungs are fucking demanding," I joke without humor.
"Chris, it's okay—"
"No, it's not," I say calmly. "Why am I the only one hyperventilating around like a socially awkward little kid being forced to sing in front of a hundred people?" I ask no one, rubbing my face with my palms.
I am met with silence.
"Chris, what are you thinking about when you are panicking?" Ashley asks me again.
I shift uncomfortably at Mike's and Sam's stares. "I told you... I think about the three of them."
"Chris, besides Josh's faked death, you're the only one who actually saw someone die," Sam whispers in shock—as if she found the key to the whole puzzle.
In fact, she did. I am. I'm the only one who saw someone actually die.
And I'm the only one who knows how the wendigos eat their prey. How Beth, Jess, and Josh were handled upon their deaths. I'm the only one who knows about them.
And I can't let them know. It'll break them, too.
"Chris, what do you know about their deaths?" Mike asks.
"No, bro, I'm not gonna talk about that."
"Chris—" Mike starts again.
"No. Let's not... Let's not talk about this anymore. I'm done. I'm tired," I tell them honestly.
"I thought you came here to talk about—"
"Well, i can be an idiot sometimes, you know," I say sharply.
"Chris," Ashley scolds in a quiet tone.
"No, I'm serious. Talking about it is a mistake. I'm not. I don't want to deal with this shit right now..."
Sam nods. "Yeah, none of us are."
Then the doors open.
And Mr. and Mrs. Washington enter.